Page 12 of Working the Lode

CHAPTER EIGHT

April 1848

Lion Island

Zelnora

Brannagh grunted like a pig in clover—or was it akin to the giant worm Zelnora had seen once making its way laboriously across the cotton ticking that covered her bed, emitting actual wild animal sounds and rearing up on its hind legs? She sat in the office chair they shared to do the ledgers as he jerked his member to achieve satisfaction against her bared breasts. Fortunately, he still didn’t dare to penetrate her, so there was none of that ugliness to contend with, but the more time she spent with the savagely graceful Cormack, even the slightest proximity of Brannagh was enough to turn her stomach.

All she could think of while Brannagh pulled at his crooked bone was I’ve got to find a way out of this. She was dead sweet on Cormack, with his lazily smiling eyes all alight as though hit by a fistful of stars. Just watching him walk, with his long arms swinging at his sides, was enough to dissolve her innards into a mushy pool of feminine longing. But was he such a thorough out-and-out mountain man that he could never behave as a proper civilized husband? He gave no indication of wanting that, other than something Aaron Erskine had told Mercy, who had told Zelnora, “He wants someone to share his lodge with the rest of his days.” His lodge? That sounded a bit primitive and barbaric. It sounded as though his goal was to return to the mountains and find himself an Indian wife. Someone who didn’t act up or speak her mind like Zelnora. In fact, that was probably the ideal wife for most of the men Zelnora had ever known—a woman who rarely talked at all, and just took care of, well, the “lodge.”

For now, Zelnora knew that striking a rich gold vein was her only hope away from this disgusting mess that Brannagh had been creating. They had been making many little strikes of about twenty or thirty dollars a day up near the mill, and some fellow California Battalion members had snuck off to a place they called Dry Diggings. Marshall had lost so many men to the gold fever he had been forced to shut down mill operations, and Sutter was starting to complain of the same thing. A gambler named Lopez had already been attacked and robbed at the Fort, presumably by the bandit everyone called Joaquin Valenzuela. Supposed to be the Robin Hood of all Spanish bandits, the story went that he gave some of what he stole back to his own people, wanting revenge for the Mexican loss of California lands, but Zelnora had seen no evidence of that. Valenzuela obviously had zest only for the rapine aspect of things, as his own wife had been raped and murdered by Americans some two years past while he was waiting to be hung alongside his brother, so Zelnora took to carrying her pocket pistol with her everywhere.

Grunting more forcefully now and with increasing agitation, Brannagh snarled, “Come to me…let me bless you with my seed!”

“Oh, yes,” Zelnora said flatly, with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “Cover me with your holy juices.”

He jerked against her bobbing breasts as she observed them, detached. Her breasts were very lush and full, were they not? Leastways, that’s what Cormack had said. Yet not good enough for him to fuck her? Cormack claimed he was holding off until she made some kind of break with Brannagh and stood up for herself, and she was as yet unable to do so. She had seen the poor love trembling and panting with desire, his cock proud, plump, and packing the crotch of his pants so stiffly it made an impression there, yet he was staying the course as a man of dignity would. And rightly so, she supposed…

Brannagh deposited a larger than usual pool of sperm onto the uplifted shelf of her breasts, while she pretended to moan in awe. After Brannagh coughed a few times and gave her his handkerchief, it was back to business, much to Zelnora’s relief.

Fiddling with the lock to the strong box, Brannagh said officiously, “I have heard you’ve come into a sum of gold.”

Ah. Cormack and she had rehearsed just this eventuality. Shrugging carelessly as she wiped off her chest, she said, “Oh, a very tiny sum, if that. I just play about in the riverbed while Mercy minds the store, then I mind the store while she does other recreational things. We take turns.”

“I’ve heard that you’ve been seen up by the mill with that corn-fed yokel, Bowmaker, ‘playing about in the riverbed.’ And that you’ve dragged Quartus into your gold mining operations.”

“’Gold mining operations’?” Zelnora bristled at Brannagh’s styling of her flame. Whatever Cormack’s background, he had not always been a mountain man, one could tell that from a glance. Why, she had learned he was thirty and eight, and having only been “raising hair” in the mountains for ten years now, he had obviously done something sophisticated prior to that. Rising to her feet, she stood behind Brannagh as he opened the safe. “They are hardly ‘operations’ now, Ward. I do it just for the fun of it, to keep my mineralogy skills sharp. Mr. Bowmaker is helpful because he has the brawn and the stamina to keep filling the rocker all day long. I just stand there and point to where I think gold might be found. And you heard Captain Sutter. If we were to discover anything, we’d have to keep quiet about it.”

Brannagh faced her, tossing some silver reales in his hand. He cocked one skeptical eyebrow. “Brawn and stamina, eh?”

Perhaps those were not the most fortunate choices of words.

“Well, if it produces gold, I’m all for it. But as you know, Zelnora, if you make a significant strike, you’re to tell me first. Why, I’ll want a cut of that!” He tried to smile in a brotherly manner, but his effort soon vanished. “And I tithe ten per cent of any income, so you’ll have to report it to me anyway. I won’t charge you for the gold you’ve found up to this point, but…” He pressed the reales into her hand. “Consider this an investment against future profits. Do you have the right tools?”

Glory be! Brannagh was fairly giving her carte blanche to go forth and make more placer strikes! Zelnora accepted the coins gladly. “Yes, we seem to have everything. In fact, I was planning to light out at once for a spot about halfway between here and Coloma, a spot no one has prospected as of yet. There is a sort of natural island created by the recent rains, and it seems logical it would bear the most auriferous minerals. If I’m right, it’s the mother lode of all placers, and I plan to call it…Lion Island, after you!”

Of course this pleased Brannagh immensely, being modeled after a lion and being told the secret of this future gold strike. He gave her several more reales upon hearing this news. “By all means, then go! But report back to me immediately, and I will send some of our own brethren to mine the gold. You’re to stay away from that no-count Bowmaker hick, do you understand? You don’t need him. Take Quartus with you, he’s definitely got brawn and stamina.”

“Well, yes, his stamina could be useful. He can’t ride very well, so perhaps he can ride the pack horse. With the tools.”

So with Brannagh’s blessing, Zelnora soon struck out astride her strong square-built bay. A pack horse was securely tied to the tail of her horse, bearing cotton duck for her shelter, picks and axes, mutton, graham flour, peas, coffee, Boston wine, whiskey, and brown sugar. Her Hawken rifle, newer and shinier than Bowmaker’s, rested across the horn of her saddle. She had never fired it, and could barely lift it, but it was better protection against bandits than her pocket pistol, which could only murder a fellow if he was immediately on top of one.

A mile or so out from the Fort, Zelnora shouted over her shoulder to Quartus. It would be sundown before they reached Lion Island, and they needed to “keep their eyes skinned,” as Cormack would say. “Dear Quartus, how are you doing? What was Brannagh saying to you before we left?”

“Oh!” Quartus giggled. “He told me to keep an eye on you, to make sure that nice Bowmaker fellow doesn’t come sniffing around your behind. What a silly way of phrasing things! As though Bowmaker is a dog. Ha ha, a dog! Imagine that!”

Fuming, Zelnora frowned and stared straight ahead. How dare he? Brannagh expected a share in something he put not one shard of effort into, and would allow Cormack to invest all the muscle and work, yet he would not tolerate Cormack “sniffing around”?

Quartus continued to chortle. “As though he would sniff your behind! I’ve seen him kiss you, but sniffing, bear’s ass, that’s another thing entirely—“

“Listen here, Quartus. Do as Brannagh instructed you. By all means keep an eye on Mr. Bowmaker, but do not report any sniffing, do you understand? Just tell him that Bowmaker worked hard, and we had no contact with each other, do you hear me?”

“Yes, but…” Quartus whined. “That would be lying, Zel. We’re taught not to lie.”

“You’re also my husband, are you not? And spouses should do what the other desires, correct? Also. I have a nice brand new surprise for you if you do what your wife desires. Right here in my saddlebag I’ve a brand new drum, made especially for you by one of the Fort’s Digger Indians.”

“A…drum?”

“Yes, and you can play it up at Lion Island. But you can only keep it if you promise not to report any sniffing, do you understand?”

Zelnora heard Quartus clap his hands together. “Oh, yes, that sounds like a very good plan indeed! A drum! It’s been so long since I’ve been able to drum on a real drum! Lion Island? Is that where we’re going?”

Zelnora sighed. She could only imagine the happiness of the mountain men when they heard Quartus drumming, but the bribe was worth it.